


Misa no Uta

by fondly_fearful



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Suicide, growing insanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fondly_fearful/pseuds/fondly_fearful
Summary: Misa's final thoughts as she gets ready for her final show- at the bridge.





	Misa no Uta

She looked beautiful.

She had planned everything about this outfit for over a week- a lovely black and white dress, with a matching headband to boot. Each of the white ruffles that were indented into her dress had been arranged just so, all sticking out with a kind of fluffy innocence. A kind of innocence her parents had always told her she had.

Her hair was perfectly tamed, not even slightly windswept despite the hurricane like currents out. She relished in the feel of it- it shook her bones, cutting her with a kind of cold pain that reminded her she was alive.

Alive.

She was still alive. 

People were milling about her everywhere, rushing to some appointment or to pick up some kid or to run an errand- none of which mattered. She slowly marched past, barely noticing all the people. Her clumpy platform shoes slowed her pace, contrasting with the fast paced citizens striding about. 

She didn’t look real. She didn’t feel real. She was too beautiful to be true, too artful to have a soul inside of her empty chest. A puppet on strings, who had prepared herself beautifully for her final show as she walked resolutely to her last destination. Well, second to last.

It was the 14th of February, and she knew what she had to do. Even the date had been carefully thought out. In Japan, millions of girls were setting forth and gifting their male companions with tezukuri chocolate they had made themselves, seeking reciprocation of their feelings. If the male accepted this token, he would be expected to gift her in return- it was the day of the blooming of tender relationships. The day when love-struck girls would start out their day hopeful, and return home either with joy in their hearts or a kind of sorrow known only to rejected love.

She had participated in those traditions once, she reflected grimly. That was before she had found real love, lost real love.

She had been born Christmas day- the Valentine’s equivalent in Japan. She would end her life on February 14th- born the day of deepened love, died the day of frisson love. She thought it was heartbreakingly romantic.

Light hadn’t come home.

Every rustle outside their house, each slight thud at the door, the mailman knocking to deliver his monthly subscription… all broke her heart when she realized it wasn’t him, returning to her loving embrace.

Kira had been apprehended, she’d heard the news of it everywhere. She’d thought Light would be ecstatic about this, proud of himself yet tired after many years of work. She hadn’t heard anything concerning him, nothing of his whereabouts

What if he was being tortured? What if he was mortally wounded in some far off country- like America? What if he had rejected her love and was in search of the next best thing?

Her heart pounded with the uncertainty…

She hoped someone- anyone- would come with news about him. Whether he was dead, alive, where he’d last been seen… anything. Her worth… her sense of self was deteriorating under the stress of all the deafening silence.

She couldn’t handle that anymore. Not without Light.

He was her ikigai- her reason to exist. Dreams of the life they’d spend together after he’d caught Kira had flooded her mind… finally settling down with her Light. Her Light. 

The words sounded funny together even in her head, so she tested them out loud, not caring about the stares she got from passerby. Her Light. Had he been her Light?

Truly?

Her career had hit a flop; plunging herself, for once, fully into her depression had taken its toll on her. No neighbors, friends, colleagues could empathise with her situation. Everyone just pitied her. Poor her, lovely her? The wife who’s husband seemingly abandoned her- isn’t that so tragic?

For once, she hadn’t wanted all that attention. Even that was unbearable.

The weight of Light’s absence had taken its toll on her, it seemed. Her heart… hurt. She felt tormented, in utter despair. She felt that she had suffered a pain much too heavy for her to carry. Was this how the average heartbreak felt? This felt beyond that. This felt beyond anything even her memory could tell her.

It felt eternal; beyond her capability to fix. 

She even felt she was going insane. In her dreams, images would come to her, of numbers and names and symbols, all bathed in a sickening yet passionate ruby red. It even happened when she walked down the street- one minute she was saying ‘Hello!’ to the flower shop lady, Ms. Florence, and the next Ms. Florence’s hair would turn an interesting shade of red, with her name written in a dizzying spectacle; numbers and letters constantly flipping and twisting and turning and make it stop make it stop make it stop-

 

Once she could have sworn she smelled blood. 

She was going crazy, insane, nothing was left for her- she’d be locked up in an asylum and then where would her life be? Down the drain and forgotten about by the time she was barely 30.

She couldn’t have that. Her mother told her she was going to be a star, her father said she would be a living princess, she couldn’t go to some crackpot house where they wouldn’t let her take care of her hair and dress in the clothes she likes-

Oh, what did it matter?

None of it did, because at 7:30 (the lover’s hour, as she’d once said to Light) it would be over. Less than a half hour from now, she wouldn’t need to worry about numbers and Light and Valentine’s Day.

In less than a half hour, her shattered soul would be free.

She continued to her destination, thoughts continuing to jumble through her head in the avid, disorganized mess they always had. Her mother used to fear she had ADD as a child…

Her mother had been beautiful. A tired, worn out kind of beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless. Her father had a kind of classic charm about him… they both had loved her very much. 

Both hadn’t deserved the end they’d gotten.

Soon, though, they’d be joined by their daughter, hugging her and dressing her up in plastic tiaras and reading translated Grimm’s Fairy Tales to their little princess again.

Kira had given them justice, and she worshipped him for that. He had fallen however; their new God had fallen and the people rejoiced, much as the supposed kingdom celebrates after the wretched villain falls.

They were wrong, she knew. She stood resolutely on the grounds he was justice, even as fewer and fewer people stood with her. 

The world sang its condemning of Kira, its hatred. The blood, the years, the times Kira- her Savior- had spent working on purifying the world ultimately meant nothing.

As, she had come to realize, did she.

She had reached the bridge. There was no one around; perfect. 

The sky was a lovely sign of the shedding winter; an early spring this year symbolized the beginning of longer days and shorter nights. She had always loved this time of year.

Lovely oranges, pinks, and blues were dusting the sky and forming together in a beautiful mess of colors, like a child using their favorite paints all over a canvas tired of the same old teal blue all day and whom wanted to shake things up. 

This spring marked the world’s first spring after the fall of Kira; a new dawn was beginning anew, and already his name was being forgotten, some even claiming him to be a myth as they traveled on their merry way.

She spread her arms wide, balancing herself on the ledge of the bridge. 

She looked more angel like than ever before; in her moment last moments alive there was a kind of fear and acceptance all at once. Her eyes, the color of the same repetitive teal blue as the neverending sky glittered with something not quite either.

Misa Amane smiled, closed her eyes for the final time, and let herself fall to the distant pavement (Or… something else?) below.


End file.
